Beautiful
by repmetsyrrah
Summary: S/T AU. Not for the first time he curses the accident that robbed him of his sight. He wants to run to her, to his family, but he's forced to rely on Mary's guidance as she gently leads him up the stairs and down the hall. Second, 3x05 AU, chapter now up.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So The Yankee Countess made a post on Tumblr about a blind Tom plotbunny then mentioned him holding his baby for the first time and this happened. AU obviously. Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**Beautiful**

* * *

Despite both doctors' repeated assurances everything is going perfectly fine, Tom is a mess.

"What about you, Tom?"

He doesn't even know what his father-in-law is asking him. It doesn't really matter, he can't eat and he feels as if his hand is nailed to the wall he's leaning on.

"I just feel so helpless."

"We men are always helpless when a baby's in the picture." He can hear from Matthew's tone, if not his words, that he means to reassure him but he can't help but think most men can at least see what's happening.

He's stuck in darkness, his last vision forever to be the bloody sight of the raid on his Dublin workplace.

He hears the door open and turns towards the sound. Before he can ask who's come through he hears Mary, the relief and joy in her voice far more meaningful than her words.

"You can come up now. It's a girl."

Tom almost collapses in relief, holding the wall as he presses a hand to his heart. "And they're both...?"

"They're fine."

It's all he's wanted to hear for nine months. He needs to go to her but his heart is too full and he can't think clearly enough to remember where in the room he's standing. Instead he reaches out desperately into the black nothingness, like the blind, helpless man he is, until he feels a hand take his in the dark.

Not for the first time he curses the accident that robbed him of his sight. He wants to run to her, to his family, but he's forced to rely on Mary's guidance as she gently leads him up the stairs and down the hall.

He hears her immediately.

Her breathing is deep but ragged, and all he wants to do is hold her and tell her how wonderful she is, how strong and brave and beautiful but he can't even tell if he's looking at her.

Mary guides him to the bed where he feels another, familiar hand take his and pull him down next to her.

He sits carefully, as close as he can and puts his hand over hers, feeling the warm weight of the bundle in her arms. Their daughter.

He runs his other arm up her back until it finds her head and he can lean forward and kiss her forehead. "Oh my darling," he breaths as she leans into him, "I do love you so very much."

He hears the blankets rustle and his head turns to the sound. He no longer hopes the darkness will resolve into anything but he's unable to break such lifelong habits.

"I just want to sleep really," Sybil sighs and the tiredness he can feel in her whole body is evident in her exhausted voice.

"Of course you do, you've earned it," Cora tells her and Tom can't help but smile as he hears the love and pride in her mother's voice. "She's a wonderful baby."

Suddenly he feels a lump in his throat and his euphoria drains away, replaced by a longing so painful it's hard to breathe.

"I wish I could see her." He doesn't care who else hears the crack in his voice, he knows people remain in the room with them but it doesn't matter. All that matters in that moment is the knowledge he can't, and will never, see his baby girl. He won't ever see any of his children.

He will never again get to watch in fascination as Sybil's stomach grew bigger, as a new life grew within her. He'll never be able to see the glow it brought to her skin, or to see her smile and watch her run her hands over the growing bump. He can't even see her holding their first child.

He doesn't realise he's crying until the tears run down his face.

"Here." A hand takes his and gently guides it down until his fingertips brush the softest skin he's ever felt.

He almost cries again as he feels the warmth of her cheek. He ever so lightly moves his hand until it comes across a small nose and down a little further he finds a tiny mouth that opens at the touch. He moves over her chin and he feels Sybil shift her blanket so he can place a hand on her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her first breaths.

She shifts under his touch and he almost jumps as he feels a small hand come up and brush his palm.

He smiles.

"She's so beautiful."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **First time I've ever posted another chapter to a fic I've previously marked complete. People wanted a happy moment though, so here, enjoy.

Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**Detail**

* * *

He hears it when he's just past the fourth door after the stair (Mary's old room).

"Sybil?" He calls out for his wife, though he knows anyone else within earshot will respond. He strains to hear a reply but it seems he's alone.

He leans into the wall for a moment, fighting back the familiar fear. There's nothing to be afraid of here, he reminds himself. People certainly still disagree that a chauffeur, and a blind one at that, is a suitable husband for an Earl's daughter but there's nothing here that would hurt him.

He manages to control it after a moment. Then, realising there's nothing else to it, sets off to take care of the noise himself.

He keeps his hand on the wall, past the next door (their room), and another (his dressing room, if he used one) and finally he feels the short rise of the frame and the sudden indent of the seventh door. He spreads his palm flat and runs it over the wood, down and across until it hits the knob.

He opens the door and pauses. This is the last place he wants to make a mistake.

He's better now, he can navigate their bedroom with confidence and he's less hesitant in the library and breakfast room too. Sybil and Mrs. Hughes have banded together, along with the rest of the family, to make certain everything is put _precisely_ back where it belongs and _nothing_ is left lying around. The effort they've all put in, just for him, is overwhelming sometimes.

But it does help _so_ much, if he knows where things are in relation to other items and with such rigid consistency he's growing better at trusting himself to move around without help.

Not here though, standing in this doorway he suddenly feels exactly as he did the first time he got out of the hospital bed in Dublin and attempted to take his first steps in his new, dark, world.

Right. It's to the right, both his memory of the layout and his ears agree with him on that.

He turns and, reaching a hand out, slowly, very slowly starts to move forward.

Two steps.

He hesitates. He should be there.

Half a step more and- his hand hits the side of the cot. He sighs and grips the edge, using it as a guide as he steps again and brings the rest of his body to stand beside it.

Inside, his daughter continues to cry.

He runs his hand down the inside of the cot until he feels a tiny foot under his fingers and he's unable to stop from smiling at the feel of her perfectly formed little toes.

"Here, love, what's all the fuss about?"

He moves his fingers along her leg, grinning as she kicks at his touch. It turns to a frown as he realises two things.

One, he's touching her bare skin, where there should be a blanket.

Two, she's _cold_.

Without thinking he gathers the discarded blankets she's wriggled out of, wraps them around her, picks her up and holds her to his chest.

Then curses silently in his head.

What now?

He can't stand there forever with her, but if he puts her down he knows he can't wrap her properly by himself and she'll be out of the blanket again soon.

_It's alright_, he thinks, _we can do this_.

He's not sure he believes it.

The nanny Lord Grantham has hired certainly doesn't. He was written off as an invalid and incapable parent the moment she heard about his condition.

"We'll show her, won't we?" Saoirse gives a happy little babble, now she's warming up, and Tom suddenly feels much better. "Yeah, we will."

He takes it as slow as he's ever gone, mindful of the priceless treasure he carries. Beyond carefully, he slides one foot across the carpet, before transferring his weight and sliding the other.

Slide.

Slide.

So far so good.

Slide.

Sybil would murder anyone who moved or left anything on the floor in here anyway. He had to almost physically restrain her a few weeks ago, when he tripped over an ottoman someone had forgotten to put back in its rightful place in the drawing room.

If Matthew hadn't caught him he'd probably have gone to hospital but it was more the humiliation of it that made him beg her to tell Mrs. Hughes quietly.

Slide.

Saoirse moves suddenly in his arms and a jolt of panic shots through him as his hold tightens but she settles quickly and he stops, breathing until he's calm again.

Slide.

What if he's headed towards a wall? That's just what he needs Nanny to come in and see, the blind father walking his daughter into a wall.

Slide.

No, he hasn't turned, he must be going straight still.

Slide.

He hopes.

Slide.

Thud.

His toe hits the edge of what he hopes is what he was aiming for.

Intensely aware of holding Saoirse safely and carefully, he slowly brings the rest of his body to join his foot.

He feels a slight protrusion on his calf and nothing more above it. Praying it means what he thinks it does, he turns and carefully lowers himself down.

His legs strain with the effort of going slow and there's another, brief, moment of panic before he feels pillows beneath him and, with an almost inaudible thump, sits on the window seat.

He laughs with relief, and there's an answering babble from the buddle in his arms.

"Well, look at that, love," he says happily, turning his face towards her, "your blind, helpless father did it."

They sit in contented silence for a while and Tom finds himself feeling more relaxed than he has been in a long time, leaning back and rocking his daughter from time to time as she gives happy little sighs and murmurs that fill his heart with joy.

The door opens and he barely has time to hope it's not Nanny when he hears her voice.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Holding my daughter," he snaps, feeling his happiness disappear in the sharp, shocked tone she uses. "Or have you gone blind too?"

There's silence for a moment before she sighs in annoyance.

"I'll take her now, Mr. Branson." He imagines her moving towards him, holding her arms out and the thought makes him pull his daughter back and lean over her protectively.

"I think we're fine right here," he tells her sharply.

"Mr. Branson, really." He feels her hands now, moving to grasp his daughter, ready to take her away from him.

It's not worth her job to hurt his child, he knows that, but it's the idea that she can take her off him if she wants, that he's been put at such a disadvantage to everyone else when it comes to keeping his child safe that truly scares him.

"No." He leans back, moving without thought as his arms shift to a more protective position, wrapping firmly around _his_ daughter and pulling her from the other woman's grasp.

"Mr. Branson-"

"He _said_ they're fine."

He wishes he could see again almost every second of every day, but now more than most, as he imagines his beautiful, headstrong wife standing in the door, staring down the woman who dared to threaten her husband. Her family.

"Thank you, Nanny." The dismissal in her voice is clear and Tom hears the door close.

"She's gone," Sybil tells him, he feels her hand on his shoulder, a gesture she uses often now, so he knows where she is. He shifts along the seat and she accepts the invitation, sitting beside him and running her hand soothingly up and down his back.

"She doesn't think I can manage," Tom tells her quietly. "She won't even let me hold her for long. And even then she makes me sit down like I'm a child."

Sybil doesn't speak but she continues to run her hand along his neck and makes no move to take her daughter from him, a silent indication of her complete trust.

"And you?" she asks finally, her hand brushing softly against his temple before running through his hair. "What do you think you can do?"

Tom leans into her touch and smiles as he feels the weight of the tiny life in his arms.

"I don't know," he admits quietly, "sometimes I feel like I can't even get out of bed in the morning."

He smiles as he feels her hand come up to cover his, holding their daughter together.

"I think I can be her father though," he tells her, "The rest..." he shifts so he can bring a hand up and stroke his daughter's cheek gently.

"The rest is detail."


End file.
